


blight

by justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops



Series: ma, pa, their babies and an uncle [1]
Category: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain, Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn & Related Fandoms
Genre: Child Death, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Infant Death, Parent-Child Relationship, altho becky and huck are more.....background characters in this if i'm being totally honest lmao, and the best way to do that is very loosely base tom's life off of twain's thank you very much, basically i wanted to write an angsty future fic, basically tom is not doing well with coping, i didn't feel there were any archive warnings these fit under so, just hang on tight, just. bear with me here, they're dealing with the loss of their baby girl, tom and becky are married alright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 10:26:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16093775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops/pseuds/justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops
Summary: The baptism and the funeral had transpired only within a few months of each other. After the service, the reverend had embraced the young couple, each in turn, and offered every comforting verse from Scripture that he’d memorized by heart, ones that may have befit situations such as these, that dealt with grief and loss and suffering. They listened the best they could, which was not saying much. Becky could at least say that she’d tried; Tom simply refused.





	blight

**Author's Note:**

> (this felt much longer and drawn out when i was actually writing it, so pardon its brevity and, to be frank, sloppy pace! i looked over it on a preview and after scrolling down thought "......this is it?" LMAO)
> 
> it's really late and i'm feeling like this is a bit stilted in some places, or just plain all over the place. but i'm getting a bit impatient with it so, please enjoy!

They’d done everything they possibly could for her, but knew all too well a body could only get so far with just the help of a single doctor in a humble village like St. Petersburg. The poor thing was simply wasting away to nothing, losing weight far too rapidly for any sort of successful treatment. It was entirely out of his hands, he'd said, and how _dreadfully sorry_  he was, too, but that was that.

The baptism and the funeral had transpired only within a few months of each other. After the service, the reverend had embraced the young couple, each in turn, and offered every comforting verse from Scripture that he’d memorized by heart, ones that may have befit situations such as these, that dealt with grief and loss and suffering. They listened the best they could, which was not saying much. Becky could at least say that she’d tried; Tom simply refused.

During the nights, he’s fallen into the habit of waking up in the early hours of the morn, accustomed already to hearing the sound of her wails around that time. Sometimes, when all of the thoughts clouding his mind are too smothering, too loud to ignore and fall back asleep again, he noiselessly drifts towards the foot of the bed and reaches into her bassinet, thumbing away idly at Carrie’s old hand me down doll and its headful of golden yarn hair. He likes to think he is careful enough not to stir Becky, but she is woken every time, without fail. 

*** 

“Daddy?” 

It’s been about a week, and Tom doesn’t think he has ever felt time drag on so slowly before in his life.

Dusk has descended upon the quiet household, and all four of them have retreated to the master bedroom together. Tom had gone first, and Huck had been shooed up by Becky after, and then she had quickly followed, Carrie in tow. They have nothing in mind to do but maybe sit together, chat a bit to kill time and entertain the little girl the best they can. Except, she doesn’t seem to be in dire need of entertainment, so much as she longs to spend time besides her father, who is somehow the quietest in the room. Silence will do, even. She isn’t feeling particular at the moment, as often as she is wont to.

Carrie quickly rises from her place close next to Huck, where she had comfortably lie in the groove of his side. Just as she escapes his one-armed embrace, she looks expectantly over to Tom, who sits cross legged on the varnished floor and leans heavily against the bed. His eyes have drifted shut, though he is only feigning sleep. He does not reply, and so, inevitably, she tries a second time.

“Daddy, what’re you doing? Are you sleeping?” Her voice is feather-light, playful even, as she notices the slight flutter of her father’s eyelids at her call.

He gives a weak shake of the head, peeling open just one eye to cast a brief glance in her direction. He does not have much willpower in him to do more than offer a lopsided smile. “No, angelfish.” _Two_ words are all that he will allow himself. One, an answer, clear enough; two, a familiar term of endearment that suits her well. As the words leave his lips, so does the half hearted smile, just as quickly as it had come.

If Carries takes note of the uncharacteristic lack of sprightliness in her father’s demeanor, she simply disregards it and presses on. She takes a few steps towards him, only to pause when she is called by her wary mother, who knows better than anyone how on edge Tom has been as of late.

“Why don’t you come over here, sweetheart?” Becky attempts in a feeble voice, gently gesturing inwards to draw the girl closer, but Carrie has already decided whose arms she seeks refuge in at this very moment, and they are not her mother’s.

“I wanna sit with him,” she simply replies, and glides towards him in even steps. She expects the man to reach out towards her, in the very least, in a welcoming embrace. He does not stir, but only opens his eyes again to stare at her expectantly. “Daddy.”

“Hmm…?” He lets his limp hand rest in hers as she plucks it up.

She gives a small tug, still exuberant, not yet catching on to any hint of exhaustion he may exhibit. “Come over and sit with me, please." 

Tom bothers to lift his head up at this, and gives her an apologetic look. “I’m... I’m awful tired, Carrie, won’t you just sit down right here?” He pats the empty spot on the floor beside him with one hand, and with the other he rakes his fingers through his hair.

“I want you to come over to Mama,” Carrie insists still, and casts a quick, yearning glance towards Becky.

_Dammit._

Tom has no idea why, but the exchange is causing his already-shredded nerves to gradually rise with each passing second.

“I don't…” He is speechless for a moment, searching within the depths of his mind for the right words to simply say no, and ultimately failing, because frankly, he’s tired, and ill-tempered, and any sort of touch at the moment makes him feel smothered. He hates it—hates that it’s so hard to refuse her anything at all, and that his voice sounds so hard around the edges—but he finds himself saying to the girl, before he can restrain himself, “Not now, alright, Carrie?”

She is silent at first. She gives her father’s arm one last gentle pull, as if she can wordlessly persuade him with this. Unsurprisingly to anyone but herself, her efforts are fruitless. Just like that, a switch is automatically flickered; the taps are turned on, and she mutters in a trembling voice, “I...I want you to sit over here with _me_ , Daddy, please.”

Tom’s head lolls for a moment before he presses a hand to the side of face, shutting his eyes and taking in even breaths in a small attempt to regroup himself. “Carrie,” he exhales somewhat shakily, firm and yet not, all at once, “stop that.” He doesn’t dare retrieve his hand from her grasp, but delivers the reprimand all the same, and this is all it takes.

The concept is simply mind-boggling to Carrie, her father refusing her his own touch; all of his hugs and kisses that she’d been lavished with not so long ago. She doesn’t think she can bear it, and she flexes her fingers towards him, reaching out for him with tiny hands, hating that he can bear to hold her away. The tears come now in quivering sobs. How had she been so carefree and playful only a minute ago?

“You're sore with me,” she insists, misunderstanding the reasons for the aloofness she has been dealt as of late. “What'd I do?”

His voice takes on an edge of desperateness as he bites out brusquely, “I never said you did nothing, only—I just— _I need_ —”

Tom shuts up then and simply holds her at arm’s length, eyes squeezing shut as he presses his other hand to his temple. His head is pulsating like a drum; miserably, he holds his ground, and she remains, equally stubborn, moaning weakly through tears at his fingertips. 

“Daddy, I-I want, I want you to sit with _me_ ,” Carrie sobs, stomping her little socked foot for emphasis, fingers grasping desperately for his arm and tugging. Her frustration seems to increase tenfold when she finds that her hold on her father is not, in fact, strong enough to stir him, and he doesn’t budge in the slightest. Her face crumples, and her grip slackens. “Sit with me!” 

Usually, an issue as simple and commonplace as a child’s tantrum would seem easy to defuse, but right now, Tom feels like a cornered animal staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Maybe it is because with every little sob he hears, it tempts a chain reaction of sorts within him, and he loses more and more of his resolve to stay calm, collected, strong and tearless himself. Maybe it is the fact that he has so entirely lost control over his life that he cannot even manage the simple task of soothing his crying daughter. He never expected something like Carrie blowing her top off to be his breaking point, but here he is.

“ _Lord_ ,” he seethes, more below his breath than to anyone in particular, and takes her little arms in his hands, being mindful that his touch is not too firm, but still deliberate enough that she will understand. Feeling bewildered, he refutes hastily, “Carrie, you got your mama and your uncle sittin’ right next to you. What’s wrong with them?”

Huck gives him a dire look suddenly, as if even he, who has little to no experience with children, understands Tom has most certainly said the wrong thing, somehow. Tom is tempted to just hand the girl over to him, since he apparently knows more about how to deal with Tom’s own daughter than he does.

Carrie shakes her head, sandy curls bouncing wildly with each gesture. Her lips curl down into a frown of utter defeat, and she simply sniffles then. “Nothing, only I just, just wanna sit with _you_ right now…!”

“Carrie, _listen_ to me—” The words succeed in breaking him from his torpid daze. He hears the steeliness in his voice, and for just a fraction of a second, it terrifies him, and he’s rendered speechless. He doesn’t dare risk a glance at Huck or Becky sitting only a few feet away, sour heat suffusing his cheeks, tendrils of shame uncurling like a fist in the pit of his belly. 

He gathers himself and tries again, softer this time, painfully aware of the sound of her hiccuping, the shuddering rise and fall of her little chest as she struggles to catch her breath. “I ain’t going anywhere, honey. Mama’s _right_ over there.” He disregards the expectant grimace Becky casts in his direction and finally pauses long enough to get a good look at the child, feeling as though his soul has exited his body in a gush of air almost instantly as her round face comes into view. A guilt-inducing image to any parent if he ever saw one: her cheeks are wet with tears, eyes red and swollen, bottom lip wobbling as her breath rattles out in uneven huffs.

She reaches towards him again, still whining, still pleading “daddy” with such excruciating inflection, he doesn’t think he can bear to listen anymore. To anyone else in the world, Tom Sawyer is known to never break, not even bend, but he yields for her, only for her. He does more than yield, in fact, but lets her take his heart as a victim, yet again. Just as usual. How could he not? 

He releases a sour backlog of air and— _finally_ —throws in the towel. He slowly scoops her up into his arms, gathers her close to his chest, and this is all it takes to quell the outpour of tears. She quiets then, the muted remnants of sobs lingering on her lips, and her little hands needily grab fistfuls of his shirt. All of the fuss, instantly gone; she’d only wanted to be held by him, obviously. Needless to say, Tom has never felt so cruel in his entire life.

He shakes his head ruefully, pressing a gentle hand to the back of her head, idly stroking the long hair that trails down her back in wispy curls. He falls against the bed and draws his legs up, lets her bury her face in his chest and doesn’t mind that she will most likely leave a stain on his crumpled shirt. It is nearly imperceptible, maybe because he has grown so used to the motions that it doesn’t even register to him, but it is there; the slight rock of his body as he cradles her in his grasp. He feels as though he is 19 again, and she is just a newborn, and there is nothing else in the world that he could want for.

Then, he remembers; the empty bassinet lies at the foot of their bed, still. He does not think he can part with it, not yet, and neither can Becky. Its presence serves more as a little tomb in the middle of their home than a bittersweet piece of remembrance, but this is no matter. The wound is too fresh to simply discard of the thing, decorative frills and all. He finds it would feel too much like discarding _her_ , and so, it remains.

With this, Tom realizes how exhausted he’s become over the span of a single week. It also occurs to him that his vision has blurred with tears. They slip down his cheeks, his downcast, unblinking eyes staring at nothing in particular, while he is certain that Becky and Huck are staring at him in silent concern. He doesn’t care.

He has broken the sacred unspoken rule: A father ought not to cry in front of their child. It is simply an insensitive thing to do, he’s been told, to be sensitive and vulnerable and weepy in front of a daughter who is already all of those things, and to such a higher degree. It cannot be helped, though. He cries still, and holds her tight to his chest, hoping that maybe she won’t notice.

“I’m sorry, angelfish…I acted mean. I been awful mean to you…” His voice, thick and slightly hoarse, betrays him instantly. “I been such a grouch t’you lately, hain’t I?” He shakes his head in distress, feeling his heart sink as he realizes how cool and distant he’s been to everyone, not only to Becky and Huck, but Carrie, too. How had he acted so withdrawn from her so unthinkingly?

Slowly, Carrie draws away from her father’s chest so that she can finally look up into his face. Thankfully, the sight of him does not distress her as Tom feared it might. Instead, she considers this her cue to return the favor; she takes his face in her little hands, eyes innocent and naive, and yet penetrating, all at once. Tom is pulled helplessly beneath the undertow of her gaze, and his eyes well up with tears again. He wonders how it is even possible that he love such a tiny thing like her these past 4 years without his heart having burst yet.

Then, her voice utters softly, “Maybe a little.” Painfully honest, and yet also eager to forgive and forget, just like any child her age.

He cannot stifle the laugh of relief that bubbles up from his throat at that. He smiles gracelessly at her, feeling only partially ridiculous. Leave it to her to somehow one-up Tom Sawyer, known well for his grandeur and charisma, in effortless charm. Only a child of his could possibly manage, he knows. “Yeah?” he chuckles weakly. “You reckon you’d forgive me for doing what I done?”

“I do,” Carrie hums, without a moment’s hesitation, somehow, and then slings herself blindly into him once again, wrapping her arms around his neck. If only he still possessed the ability of a child, Tom wishes, to waltz around pain so easily.

Now that his guardedness has sufficiently melted away, he allows himself to peer around the room, remembering that he and Carrie are not, in fact, the only two inside. Becky and Huck are still where they’d sat before, having watched the scene unravel with apprehension at first, and then overwhelming patience. Tears prick visibly in Becky’s eyes, and Huck looks as though he is putting every ounce of willpower into restraining a torrent from flowing from his own. 

Becky draws near then, joining flush against Tom and burying her face in his neck, weeping silently. Her voice is brilliantly proud as she laughs, “I reckon I’d have it no other way, being married to you, and I reckon there aren’t a better couple of babies to be had in this village. Don’t you think so, Tom?” His name is so sweet on her tongue, Tom cannot help but immediately reply, with as conviction as he can muster, “Yes, _of course I do_.” He turns his head then, and as she lifts her face, he clumsily presses his nose against hers, then his lips, mouthing an _I’m sorry_ against her skin. Unheard, and yet understood all the same. 

He is assured then that, simply because she had existed, this baby, alive or not, has earned her rightful place in the Sawyer family.

As has Huck, who still awkwardly lingers in the corner of the room, for some reason that is entirely beyond Tom.

“What’re you doing over there, Huck Finn?” Tom chides, releasing peals of incredulous laughter, open hand extended towards him. He shakes his head, as if lamenting over the fact that someone could possibly fail to see something so perfectly clear. “Perfect mullet-headed man if I ever _see_ one!” 

And this seems to be enough for Huck, who is well accustomed to Tom’s secret language that hides beneath the guise of scolding and understands. He sails quickly over towards the three, with a bright smile on his face and a wet laugh falling from his lips, and takes Tom's hand. He doesn't mind when he is dragged down to their level and plops awkwardly onto the mattress. They all sit close to one another, perched on the edge of the bed. It seems that no one has been spared the embarrassment of crying this evening.

 _Good,_ Tom thinks, not too sullenly at all. 

_I’d have felt like a damn fool if I’d been the only one._

**Author's Note:**

> eyyy i got a tumblr @ romantic-outcast.tumblr.com
> 
> hit me up or just follow if you wanna see me ramble more twain-related junk on there
> 
> also let's be totally honest, this fandom has maybe 20 people in it max, so not to That Person that demands compliments lmao, but it'd really help motivate me to write more works if you guys left some feedback!! just a simple couple of words like "this rocks!" would put a smile on my face. if not that, i'd totally appreciate just some kudos <3 thank you so much!


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